Beyond Barriers
by RosieMary
Summary: Constance Hardbroom and Imogen Drill. Two Opposites, both in need of something. Warning:femslash. Constructive criticism and all opinions will be appreciated.
1. Chapter 1

The Worst Witch

Disclaimer - These Women are not Mine

**Beyond Her Barriers**

Slamming a heavy book on the staffroom table, Constance Hardbroom wearily sat down in her usual place - the castle's oldest and least comfortable armchair, resting her head in her hands. Another work-filled day at Cackle's Academy was now over at last. One time, when she first qualified as a teacher, she would not have had it any other way. Discipline. That was what the young girls' inquisitive minds required for structure. It was how she had been taught, and few who had met her could deny she was the most powerful witch of their acquaintance.

However, ever since the recent visit of her former mentor, a Miss Hecketty Broomhead, Miss Hardbroom could see the fine line that existed between discipline and a dictatorship. She could not honestly say for certain if she had crossed it. Her current third year girls would not believe it, but in previous years she had been even stricter, even harsher. She had softened slightly through her time spent with her colleagues –particularly kind-hearted Amelia and the younger, good-natured Miss Drill. While she could not call them friends exactly, she was aware of their regard for herself and although she never allowed them past her ever-present barrier she appreciated their well-meant attempts. Also, the girls' introduction to Mistress Broomhead taught them one thing. Their deputy headmistress was not as fearless as they had naturally assumed.

Constance sighed audibly. With no-one in the room to question why, she could show how she felt: exhausted and miserable. Magically summoning her black handbag with just one flick of her hand she reached inside for her bottle of wide-awake potion. Another sigh. Typically, it was empty, just when she needed it most if she was going to patrol the castle corridors throughout the night.

She allowed herself to sink into a more easeful position as she conjured her back-up elixir, a potion for dreamless sleep. She drained the vial of its contents and closed her eyes, permitting herself a rare hour or two of relaxation. She knew the usual troublemakers wouldn't get restless until she called 'lights out'.

As unconsciousness took her there was a noticeable change. As her breathing became slower, deeper, the signs of worry left her face. Sleep erased the expressions that she shot at pupils and staff alike in daylight hours. She was peaceful. But more than that, she was beautiful.

This was the thought that overcame Imogen Drill as she entered the room, silently closing the door behind her.

She stood for a moment, captivated.

She had always found Miss Hardbroom attractive, but always from a distance. She had never before had the opportunity to look at her properly, unguarded in this way. Constance's almost black hair was in such contrast to her pale skin and her dark eyelashes were long and feminine. Imogen found herself admitting her previously subconscious desire. She wished to gaze upon the woman awake, to see the eyes she knew were brown but never had the chance to memorise without risking her colleague's formidable anger.

Moving closer to sit at the table, she placed her bag down and noticed the discarded vial and shook her head in sorrow. She knew Miss Hardbroom pushed herself too hard. It was obvious, even to a non-witch like herself, that powerful magic requires a lot of effort and strength. She worried. She knew it was out-with her control, out-with the control of even Amelia Cackle. Nevertheless, Imogen cared. Although she accepted that she might never reach a friendship status with this striking witch, she still felt a strange compulsion, a need to protect.

Constance shifted in her sleep, now facing Imogen directly. Imogen gasped, scared she had been awoken. If she saw someone watching her in this vulnerable state she would be extremely unamused. This reminded Imogen of how ridiculous her feelings were. She would never need to protect someone who could reduce her to secret tears with just one sarcastic comment. Despite the pain she had sensed in connection to their recent inspector, Imogen knew that Miss Hardbroom's very nature would prevent her confiding in anyone, least of all the non-magical P.E teacher who she seemed to have very little patience for.

Imogen crept a little closer and wondered if she had the courage to make Miss Hardbroom a little less uncomfortable. She quickly yet quietly undid Constance's hair from its usual harsh style, allowing the soft curls to flow and frame her slender face. An ethereal beauty that greatly contrasted with Imogen's own good looks, short blonde hair and tanned skin. She fetched a blanket from the staffroom cupboard and gently placed it over her.

She moved towards the door, then looked back momentarily.

"Sweet Dreams." she whispered softly, promising silently to deny these new feelings, even to herself as far as possible.

She then left to meet her boyfriend.

As she did so, Miss Hardbroom's eyes opened. She looked down at the blanket and ran one hand through her loose hair.

'_Who on earth...?'_ she wondered, surprised both at the fact that it had went unnoticed and more so at the fact that someone had shown compassion towards her. She glanced at the table. Miss Drill had forgotten her bag.

She knew now who had been present.


	2. Chapter 2

Beneath the library of Cackle's academy the young witches of DOBS (Dangerous Old Book Society) sat gossiping, in the way that only young witches of Cackle's can.

"Did you hear what Enid said to HB?" Millie asked, a look of glee passing over her face.

Enid laughed and Maud shook her head.

"No. I hope you aren't going to be getting us into trouble...you don't need that again Millie." She shot a meaningful look at Enid, who merely smiled.

"Don't worry Maud, I think HB's practically asking for us to rebel. Three years of her strict teaching is too much for anyone to handle."

"Except Ethel Halllow," Maud reminded the other girls.

This was the point that Miss Hardbroom appeared behind a bookcase, ready to chide the girls over their poor potions marks for that week and to suggest that they worked a little harder over the weekend to prepare for Monday's test. She hesitated when she heard her two-letter term of endearment.

"Forget HB!" Enid exclaimed. "She's an utterly sadistic cow. Harsh Bitch, that's what HB stand for – and it's clear to see where she got it from. Our school inspector – they say the pupil always surpasses the teacher. I'm surprised she's never driven anyone to suicide..."

For once in her life, Constance did not feel like revealing herself at this crucial point in the conversation. Enid's words were cutting, and they reminded Constance of the physical scars Mistress Broomhead had inflicted upon her. They had healed, but emotional scars run deeper.

She vanished back into the nowhere she came from, and appeared again in the staffroom she had assumed was still empty.

"Constance!" Amelia looked up in surprise. Although Miss Hardbroom had learnt that form of magic before they had met it never failed to startle her slightly.

"Miss Cackle." Constance politely returned the greeting in her usual reserved manner, but Amelia could tell she was more distracted than usual. While the deputy headmistress rarely called her by her first name, there was a distant look in her eyes this evening.

Amelia waited a moment before looking over to ask what was wrong. It was a moment too late, Constance had silently departed. Miss Cackle rolled her eyes. It was typical Constance. She could only hope that any issues would resolve themselves.

* * *

Wandering the castle corridors at night gave Constance time to think. The darkened, hallowed halls were her home, and at this point in her life nothing could give her greater comfort during difficult times. Tears ran soundlessly down her cheeks as she thought of her pupils' opinions, and her undeniable similarities with the woman she had always sworn to despise.

She paused at a pane-less arched window and glanced at the woods surrounding the building. The petite woman riding a bicycle towards the castle caught her eye, and then continued to cycle out of sight. She gave a small snort of derision. Certainly, it was not as graceful as riding a broomstick. However, it did give Imogen an athletic figure and a sort of passion for life that she rarely saw anymore.

She moved to leave, her tears almost dry, when she saw Imogen walking towards the stairs. She turned back abruptly, desperately willing the other woman to leave.

Imogen curiously and hesitantly walked towards the woman silhouetted at the window.

"Miss Hardbroom?" she enquired cautiously. "...Constance?"

Her addressee took a deep breath and responded.

"Good evening, Miss Drill." She proceeded to remove the remaining evidence of her crying with a purple silk handkerchief.

Imogen noticed this and contemplated saying something, before deciding against it.

"Good night, Miss...Constance." she replied before ascending.

Miss Hardbroom remembered Imogen's earlier kindness and thought about calling her back. She concluded that she wouldn't know what to say, how to say it and she wasn't even sure she liked the idea of someone acting in such a personal way towards her. Instead she extinguished the faraway candles with just one gesture and used her powers to transport her directly to bed.

* * *

"Quiet!" Miss Hardbroom's characteristically harsh command resounded through the potions lab. The third years were silent immediately.

"Now," she paused, a steely glint in her eyes. "Mildred, Enid, Maud, Jadu, in fact ALL of you will be brewing and cleaning through this double period, lunchtime and after normal working hours to repent for the absolutely appalling work completed yesterday, or not even completed yesterday, as the case may be."

"But Miss Hardbroom," Ethel dared to protest "We have chanting after lunch..."

One look from her form mistress cut her sentence mid-flow.

"Miss Hardbroom, it's not fair!" Enid spoke loudly from the back of the classroom.

"Enid Nightshade!" Miss Hardbroom erupted, "It is not for you to decide what qualifies as unfair in the running of this school! As for you, Mildred Hubble-"

"Miss, Mildred's said nothing!" Maud practically squeaked.

Miss Hardbroom turned venomously.

"And you, Maud Moonshine..."

At that precise moment Miss Drill was jogging through that part of the school and heard the rest of the outburst. She had never heard even that woman act so unreasonably and she entered the room, out of loyalty to the girls.

Miss Hardbroom stopped mid-flow. A slight look crossed her face momentarily which suggested she knew she had gone too far. Miss Drill folded her arms.

"Miss Hardbroom. I'd like a word with you at the end of this period."

"As you wish," the dark haired woman muttered. "Get to work girls!" she barked before dramatically sweeping past Imogen and out of the room.


	3. Chapter 3

"- and above all... your attitude towards the pupils! You strict...sarcastic...infatuating... Goddess!"

Imogen concluded the rant that she was practicing in front of a mirror in her private quarters. Three attempts and she still had no idea how exactly to attack Miss Hardbroom on this matter. A nervous feeling clouded her when Constance was present, and she feared direct confrontation would be enough to turn the delicate butterflies invading her stomach into boisterous dragons.

The noise of the girls outside alerted her to the fact that the potions lesson was now over and she reluctantly headed towards Miss Hardbroom's classroom. She could not deny she felt intimidated by Constance, but Imogen Drill was also strong and capable.

Constance looked up from the blank page she had chosen to stare at for the past half hour rather than face teaching.

"Miss Drill," she stated quietly. "You wanted a word?"

Imogen opened her mouth to start her lengthy monologue, then seeing the look on the other woman's face, she paused. It wasn't the usual indifferent glare she was accustomed to. There was an almost hopeless expression upon it. Nevertheless, Imogen had to continue. If it helped her understand her colleague, that would be an added achievement.

"Miss Hardbroom..." she began, breaking off in anticipation of an interruption which did not come. Constance simply watched the younger woman, who blushed slightly before continuing.

"Miss Hardbroom, I need to express my concern at the way you dealt with your last class. I know how you work but I have to say I disagreed with your methods earlier..."

Still no resistance came.

"I know you've not been sleeping properly. It _must_ be affecting you detrimentally! You must know I recognise your abilities as a wonderful teacher-"

Here Constance responded with a weak smile that was filled with irony.

"- but there really is no need for such an onrush."

Constance proceeded to speak for the first time in the previously one-sided argument.

"You are very quick to pass judgement, Miss Drill, with no real understanding whatsoever."

She did not deliver the words in a fierce tone, or with any trace of malice. She only stated them as a fact which seemed to mildly sadden her.

Using all her will-power, Imogen maintained eye-contact, struggling to remain focussed on her point when faced with her opponent's beauty, which was proving to be as distracting as ever. She remained determined not to let the powerful emotions she felt affect her in this.

"I may understand more than you think." Imogen finally retorted. "Perhaps your constant displays of severity arise from your high opinion of your superiors."

Constance raised an eyebrow, questioning her meaning.

"Perhaps your need is fuelled by your desire to match Hecketty Broomhead," Imogen carried on, speaking more hastily as Miss Hardbroom shifted slightly. "Perhaps it's a desire to be equal with the venomous creature that taught you, to succeed in defeating her!"

She faltered as Constance rose suddenly. To her surprise, the witch was shaking slightly.

"Perhaps you're right." Constance stated weakly before reaching her hand out to the desk in order to steady herself.

Miss Drill moved towards her in concern. Her light touch on Constance's arm seemed to steady her for reasons she did not know.

Miss Hardbroom folded her arms and disappeared, leaving Imogen distressed. She had technically won, but it did not feel like a victory.

* * *

Serge dimmed the lights and returned to sit beside Imogen. Placing his arm around her, he gave her a smile that she did not immediately return.

"What's up with you, Immie?" he asked, his Canadian voice too unlike Constance's tones. She shuffled slightly, in search of personal space. He could not hide the hurt he felt.

"You've been acting this way recently. What's wrong?" Serge asked softly, knowing already what her response would be.

"Oh, more of the usual. Constance Hardbroom, acting as I would expect, then as I could never expect, then just when I think she can't possibly have a soul she exposes me to it. If I tried to comfort her she is quite capable of killing me, but..." Imogen trailed off, staring directly ahead of her rather than looking at Serge.

"But, if you don't try to comfort her, the effort involved might kill you instead." He gently finished for her.

Imogen looked up sharply. "What do you mean?"

Serge chuckled, softly and sadly.

"This woman's been the only thing on your mind for as long as I can remember. I think...I think your thoughts are always with her."

Imogen wanted to protest, but realised in time that she couldn't. It was possible that Serge could see what she could not admit.

"It's okay." Serge interjected to prevent her speaking . "You don't have to explain anything." He stood, then awkwardly leant to give her a kiss on the cheek.

"I'm sorry." Imogen whispered.

Serge hesitated. "If you ever need me, I'm here for you, you know?"

Imogen gave a small smile, choking back tears. "I know." She assured him.

She got to her feet and headed towards the door, her mind now clearer. All through her long bus journey and her short walk back to the castle, it was her tortured temptress on her mind.

* * *

In a mirror of the previous night's events, Imogen spotted Constance in the same pose, at a different window.

"Constance?" she called softly.

This time she turned at once.

"Miss Drill-" she started, before she was corrected.

"Imogen."

"Imogen." Constance repeated. Then she was interrupted once more.

"Listen, about this afternoon...I'm sorry."

"There's no need." Miss Hardbroom replied crisply.

Imogen sighed in frustration.

"Yes there is. What there was no need for was my casting of aspersions . You're right, I don't understand.

Constance gave a curt nod. Imogen had not yet finished.

"I do understand that the past can be difficult. What I don't understand is why you punish yourself for it."

An affronted look from Constance.

"I don't quite-"

She was interrupted once again.

"I know that you don't approve of my teaching as much as I have my issues with yours. But how would it feel, to see the girls faces light up when enter the potions lab, instead of your mere presence causing them to cower in the classroom?"

Constance Hardbroom could not argue.

"Get some rest." Imogen advised her. "Please."

Against all odds, sighing, Constance admitted defeat. She moved, intending to magically extinguish her candle and disappear to her bedroom. Imogen anticipated this and grasped her raised arm, preventing her escape. The breaths she took became shorter as she realised the intensity of the situation she had just created.

Constance was too shocked to struggle. The moonlight illuminated her skin and her eyes widened slightly. Then, allowing Imogen to maintain her grip, she took a step back, as though challenging the P.E teacher. Her breathing rate increased to match her colleague's.

Imogen met the challenge by timidly taking one step closer. She released Constance and gave her a moment to leave, if she chose. She then reached up slightly and stroked Constance's hair, down and braided in its usual night-time style.

Imogen kissed her gently, just catching her lips. She stepped back nervously to see the reaction. She was given a brief look of confusion, followed by desire, then finished by an anxious gaze.

Lowering her head, Constance allowed their lips to meet once more and pulled the younger woman closer. Still unsure, but unable to stop herself, Imogen ran her hands through the dark hair, wishing to be lost forever in it. Lost herself, Constance ran her hands down Imogen's back, stopping at her waist. As their kiss deepened, Imogen made a small noise of pleasure that awakened something in Constance's heart that she had never before knew existed. It continued to beat frantically after she pulled away. Imogen's searching eyes were fixed upon her, looking for an answer.

Constance lingered for a moment, then left.


	4. Chapter 4

Had she just made an irrevocable mistake? At that moment Imogen's judgement was too clouded to know. She watched silently as Constance walked away in her usual brisk fashion, with a slight falter in her step that hinted to her feelings of bewilderment.

Imogen gave a small smile. Whilst she may have known the cause of the confusion, her secret indulgence of observing Constance ensured that she recognised any alteration in her mannerisms, so slight that they would be unnoticed by anyone but herself. She was a very practical woman, and this understanding was enough to give her hope.

* * *

Hastily closing the heavy door that protected her bedroom, Constance sat on her bed and closed her eyes in a desperate attempt to collect her thoughts. Until a few moments ago she had presumed she was all-knowing. She could still sense Imogen in every possible respect. Touch, scent, taste... Lying back, she tried to differentiate between her mixed emotions.

Predominantly fear. Fear of the situation, Fear of being caught, Fear of the unknown. Fear of developing attachment.

Constance Hardbroom had always been an attractive woman, but even the beautiful are not immune to the pain of rejection. Could she cope with the danger of someone seeing past her no-nonsense facade? She herself did not like to acknowledge the person within, therefore this seemed unlikely.

With a sigh, she began to rationalise.

_Imogen Drill must see something..._ _Otherwise she wouldn't have these concerns-_

" -These... feelings." Constance concluded aloud, before shaking her head.

Making the decision to ignore that evening's events returned her sense of control, reassuring her slightly.

She conjured the trusty dreamless sleep potion. She banished the overwhelming self-doubt that was present in her mind by drinking it. As she drifted out of consciousness she involuntarily reflected on her acquaintance with Imogen. Their first meeting. Their first civil conversation. Their first heated debate. Their first kiss... Then nothing.

* * *

As dawn took over the castle and the first rays of sunlight crept in through the windows, Imogen still lay awake. As a non-magical person she did not have the same mystical methods of clearing her mind. Jumping to her feet, with a sudden burst of energy unique to herself, she pulled on her running shoes and headed towards the door. Her favourite pastime might not deliver the answers she sought, but running gave her an instant challenge to focus on, and the illusion of peace as nothing else could possibly intrude.

Passing trees, the lake, more trees...The adrenaline coursed through her body as she coursed through the castle grounds, glowing due to the exercise and ready to face another day at Cackle's Academy.

Her workout was slightly more strenuous than her usual daily routine. This twist of fate caused her to stop for breath and kneel down before entering the great hall. Miss Hardbroom swept down the stairs in a manner that was both magical but concrete. Her eyes briefly met Imogen's before immediately darting elsewhere, in a rare deviation from her normal resolute strength.

As Imogen was wondering the best means of starting their conversation, Constance spoke.

"Miss Drill" she said in civil acknowledgement, with an ice-cold edge that did not seem to be directed at her young colleague particularly.

Imogen wondered if it was perhaps self-focused. She opened her mouth to deliver something - an equally polite greeting, a request to talk privately, even permission to forget the entire incident. She was not given the chance however, as Constace was gone as quickly as she had appeared.

Mildred Hubble watched her form teacher's unusually distracted display with vague interest. Imogen wondered if any of the girls noticed her own flustered appearance and got to her feet, attempting to look more professional.

"Good Morning, Imogen!" Miss Cackle called merrily, coming from the direction of her office.

"Hello, Miss Cackle." Imogen forced a smile that did not deceive the headmistress for one moment.

She was met with a look of mild concern.

"You look very thoughtful. Is there anything the matter?"

Imogen shook her head.

"A problem shared is a problem halved you know..." Amelia probed gently.

Her kind-heartedness encouraged a genuine smile from Imogen, that served to reassure her.

"I'll bear that in mind Miss Cackle." She told her friend as they continued through the double-doors to breakfast.

Amelia noted the absence of her deputy headmistress and tutted gently before muttering confidentially.

"Not sleeping properly. Now she's not eating properly...Perhaps you could have a word with her. Your knowledge of physical health and fitness would be beneficial. While obviously the headstrong type, she will take advice, on occasion. Providing, of course, that she doesn't have to show she has. "

Miss Cackle shared a small portion of the very little insight she was allowed into Constance's character.

"Actually," she continued, pouring orange juice, "I recently had a splendid idea. It might just be an opportunity for both staff and pupils to relax, and to get to know each other better in a more select group."

Imogen was alerted to the fact that it was impossible for two teachers in such a small group of staff members to avoid each other. The issue would have to be faced

Imogen resolved not to obsess, telling herself truths to support this.

_If you_ _worry, you_ _die. If you don't worry, you_ _die._ _Why worry?_

What had to be dealt with would be, in time.


	5. Chapter 5

Imogen was affected in a way she had never before considered possible. By the awareness of an absence.

She missed the confrontation.

Her relationship with Miss Hardbroom was not the closeness she scarcely dared to imagine. Instead, it had reverted back to before Constance had ever let any emotion show. Worse still, back further. She was now barely acknowledged, and certainly not argued with daily, as she most certainly would have been only the previous month.

Pouring herself a cup of tea in the staff-room between classes, she closed her eyes and took advantage of the space being empty. No eccentric Davina Bat and no enquiring Amelia Cackle. Most importantly, there was no uncomfortable Constance Hardbroom. She felt relieved to escape an awkwardness that she acknowledged all responsibility for.

The door of the room opened and was slammed shut. Her eyes widened slightly as Constance strode into her sight, muttering something indecipherable about second years.

Imogen attempted to break through the ice that was yet again present.

"That's not like you lately, Miss Hardbroom."

Miss Hardbroom's turned abruptly, about to respond viciously, before stopping herself. In a very controlled manner, she replied.

"I am unaware as to what you are referring to, Miss Drill."

"Using the door." Imogen volunteered.

Constance's eyes narrowed. It was true. Having been recently instructed by Miss Cackle to get some rest, and not being the type to refuse a direct order from her superior, she was now fit to travel magically more easily. Physically well. Emotionally, however, she felt exhausted. She allowed a moment to consciously wish that Imogen was not quite so well-attuned to herself.

She retorted only with "hmm."

Not one of her usual witty come-backs, that much was true.

Before Miss Drill could try conversing again, Miss Cackle entered.

"Good afternoon, Ladies!" she beamed at both of them.

"Good afternoon, headmistress." Her audience replied, almost in unison, much to their own annoyance.

Amelia continued to smile.

"You both know that Miss Bat is indisposed. Two weeks of a chanting course in Mongolia. You have the lists of the third-year pupils who are involved in that excursion?"

She was met by two nods of agreement.

"Excellent. You now know who will be accompanying the two of you on _your_ excursion."

It became instantly clear to Imogen that this was Miss Cackle's idea to force a break from teaching on Constance. If she herself was slightly taken aback by this statement, it was nothing compared to Miss Hardbroom's reaction.

"Miss Cackle!" she exclaimed indignantly.

Miss Drill struggled to hide a smile of pleasure. For the first time in weeks she had witnessed a characteristic outburst of characteristic disapproval.

"When were you planning to spring this on us?" she asked.

"Oh, approximately twenty seconds ago." Miss Cackle answered, with a twinkle in her eye.

This was too much for Constance.

"Can I ask _why _you're imposing an outing on us?" she enquired frostily, with a hint of the agitation she felt present in her voice.

"Come now, Constance." Amelia reasoned. "You mustn't think of it as in imposition. More of as... an enjoyable experience."

Miss Hardbroom stared in disbelief.

"_Not_ like your past camping trip." The headmistress clarified, mistaking the cause of Miss Hardbroom's concern. "This will be a magic-friendly trip - _with_ physical education aspects." She concluded quickly, as Imogen opened her mouth to protest.

Constance looked desperately at Imogen, willing her to disagree and point out the impracticalities of such a plan.

Imogen noticed this and thusvdecided on the best course of action, asking only one question – "when do we leave?"

* * *

First thing the next day. Once left alone Constance groaned softly at the prospect of it. Firstly, there were her usual objections. The third-year girls were easily excitable, and they were being informed at that very moment. With examinations just around the corner, any deviation from mundane routines could be disastrous. Secondly, there was her companion.

Imogen.

She wondered if she could use their professional differences as an excuse to abandon the whole idea. She tried to form a persuasive argument, and spoke it to the air.

"It's not her status as a non-witch that is the problem, it is the lack of understanding that comes with it." She took a deep breath. It was a start. She felt comfortable with it as it was an actual issue she faced concerning the P.E teacher. However, it was not enough.

Considering further, evidence of their partnership being doomed to failure was difficult to find.

"It's not a problem I have against Imogen personally-" Constance had to break off mid-sentence. That was exactly it. There was no dislike of Miss Drill. In fact, it was precisely the opposite.

She liked her.

Despite opinions that differed greatly and superficial principles, in many ways they possessed similar core values. Both taught for the sake of the girls. They may have argued over methods, but overall each had the best interests of their pupils at heart.

Constance Hardbroom generally believed she had a firm understanding of everything. Imogen had cast a shadow of doubt over that conviction. If Constance made more of an effort to understand her colleague's ways, would she begin to be in agreement with them? Probably not. But she was closer to appreciating their merits.

Besides, with Miss Cackle so insistent, she acknowledged that there was little point in her resistance. With just a quick gesture of her hand she instructed her bag, a ten minute walk away, to pack itself and she vanished to her classroom to reconstruct the lesson plans she required to follow after their return.

As Imogen approached her later that evening, the only sound that greeted her was that of pages being turned. Completely absorbed in her work, Constance for once was not all-knowing, and was only alerted to the intruder when she cleared her throat loudly.

She looked up at once.

"Well. Are you going to tell me where it is we are embarking to?"

Miss Drill smiled in spite of herself.

"It's a mountain retreat. You have agreed to join us then?"

Constance adopted a haughty tone.

"I can't see I had much of a choice in the matter."

Not only did Imogen know that this was not _really_ the case, Constance knew it too.

"There are arrangements to be made of course-" Miss Drill began.

"Ah, of course!" Constance agreed. "It's all rather last minute, but I drew up a plan of-"

It was now her turn to be interrupted.

"Now Miss Hardbroom, you seem to be automatically assuming that you are in charge of our outing?" Miss Drill asked pointedly

Constance hesitated for a brief moment.

"Well, naturally as deputy headmistress I will be exercising my authority."

"Terrifying Mildred Hubble and her friends?" Imogen challenged that authority.

Constance gave a short laugh and stood to face her shorter opponent.

"Do you remember, Miss Drill, what happened on our school trip where I agreed you were ultimately in charge?"

She could discern a faint blush as Imogen recalled that she did indeed require Miss Hardbroom's assistance on many occasions. Nevertheless, she refused to admit defeat.

"Yes, Constance." She moved closer to prove her point. "You are powerful. We both know it-"

"Indeed." Constance also took a step forward. The tension then began to make its presence known.

Refusing to be intimidated, Imogen lifted her head and her bright blue eyes met Constance's deep brown ones.

"- but I am _not _afraid of you."

Almost of its own accord, her hand moved to touch the other woman's cheek, as if trying to provoke her.

Constance flinched slightly but did not resist. She was overwhelmed by the same persistent urges as adrenaline rushed over her body and instinct took control.

Without thinking, she leant and kissed Imogen with all the passion of Aphrodite. Such zeal could only be met by an equal response. Scattering papers and potions, not even reacting to the sound of breaking glass, Imogen felt herself being pushed into a sitting position on the desk. As they explored each other, Constance allowed Imogen's hands to travel down her cool neck, and further, undoing the first few buttons of her high-collared dress.  
Constance's fingertips moved in the opposite direction, lightly touching Imogen's thighs and gradually circling, upwards, to where they met.

At that instant they were forced to jump apart by the sound of a crash from a nearby corridor. Constance hastily re-fastened the buttons, looking at Imogen as she did so.

"Forgive me. That sounds like a student out of bed hours after lights-out."

She gave a barely noticeable smile as she left to investigate.

Imogen stayed, still slightly dazed.

_She really is unfazed by anything._ She thought, admiring the woman's calm exterior as the beat of her own heart threatened to knock her off her feet.


	6. Chapter 6

"Well," Constance wore a look of mild disapproval upon her face. "That wasn't exactly according to plan, Miss Drill."

Imogen wondered if she had also caught the flicker of amusement from the woman as she ran to catch the map, stolen from her by a mischievous gust of wind.

Miss Hardbroom allowed herself a moment of wicked hesitation before magically transporting the airborne paper directly into Imogen's hands.

Not for the first time in years of training, the P.E teacher stumbled, this time in surprise.

Constance struggled but could not suppress a smile.

Mildred Hubble and Enid Nightshade began to laugh, then stopped abruptly when they noticed their potions mistress almost doing the same. They had never witnessed a more disconcerted sight since Miss Cackle had slow-danced with the grand wizard at the annual Christmas Ball.

Imogen jogged back, presenting Miss Hardbroom with an expression of exasperation that could rival one of her own.

She grudgingly muttered "Thank You", her usual sunny disposition interrupted by exhaustion. She had been secretly lightening the deputy's workload – dealing with both correspondence and application from prospective pupils. Constance was completely unaware of this assistance, but Amelia Cackle was not. This was an additional motivation for releasing half of her small staff from their regular teaching posts. With only a small group of pupils between them they would gain hours of relaxation that would have been otherwise unavailable.

As they continued their walk to what was their cabin for the week, the pupils chattering happily, Imogen reflected on the definite change in her companion's demeanour. It was not immediately obvious, but even the third years had noticed that a slight difference in the behaviour of their form mistress.

She wasn't losing her temper at every little thing. Only every second little thing.

This was enough to lift Imogen's spirits slightly. If her help had been the hidden cause of any positive effect, then her hours of labour over the past few weeks had been worthwhile.

As she was lost in these thoughts, Constance tried to guess them. They seemed to have reached a mutual, unspoken decision not to dwell on the events of the previous evening. During their train journey and subsequent walk they travelled mainly in comfortable silence.

Constance could not easily explain her sudden desire, but she did know that she was not suited to emotional attachment, whereas Imogen most likely was.

Miss Drill was unsure of her interest's feelings, her own feelings and whether she truly wished to attempt the taming of the woman who opposed her and her philosophy so regularly.

Imogen was a free-spirit, Constance was as reserved as the high-collared black dress she was wore. Then there were the sexuality issues that neither of them had even begun to address properly.

A mile or so later, Miss Hardbroom inwardly groaned at the first, inevitable cry of "Are we there yet?"

Before she could deliver a sarcastic retort to the asker, Imogen looked up from her map and was the one to reply with "Yes, we are."

She was met by confused stares from the girls, as they still appeared to be in the middle of nowhere. Their teacher gestured ahead.

"Straight up that hill."

They were now facing a slope that was steeper than Mildred had thought physically possible and resembled something from her worst obstacle course nightmares.

If Miss Hardbroom had ever in her life considered acting unprofessionally, it was at that moment, when she wished to add to the collective complaints of the girls.


	7. Chapter 7

As the sun was setting on midsummer's eve, Imogen returned alone to the cabin. It was small when it was considered that she, Constance and their charges would be occupying it for the next few days. Also, if the girls' had their way they would not leave it until the few days were over. She would never understand the girls' lack of enthusiasm for a healthy walk in the fresh air. However, in their absence she could enjoy a longer run, in the confidence that the pupils would already be tucked up in bed at Miss Hardbroom's request on her return.

Conscious of the late hour, she opened , closed and locked the door slowly and silently, thinking there was a chance that Constance might already be asleep. She had been surprised to find that there was a large dormitory for the girls to sleep in, and just the open plan living room and kitchen for herself and Constance to inhabit. Needless to say, she had offered the one semi-comfortable settee to her colleague, who had not argued.

Of course, upon entering she could see that this said colleague was of course not asleep, but studying an advanced potions volume.

"Poisons and Practices." Imogen read aloud, causing Constance to glance up at her. If she had been at all surprised by Imogen's stealthy appearance then she concealed it rapidly.

Out of a need to make conversation, Constance took a polite interest.

"Did you have a pleasant few hours?"

"Yes, I did. Thank you." Imogen almost smiled, pleased at the effort Miss Hardbroom was making. "What about yourself?"  
Constance had not expected the question to be returned to her.

"Oh. Yes. Well, this new edition has a simply fascinating chapter on the _hiybriedius _species..." Constance began to explain, the majority of her words beyond Imogen's understanding, not only as a non-witch, but because she was overwhelmed by the woman's passion for the subject she taught.

She could see that their passionate encounters had not arisen from an ice maiden, as she had once believed Constance to be.

As Constance finished her extremely poetic description of the rare plant, Imogen was unsure if she should speak her thoughts, or if it would be considered too personal.

She took a chance.

"I think I can see why you teach."

"What is that?" Miss Hardbroom did not immediately understand.

"Your enthusiasm for the branch of magic, your zeal for collecting ingredients. You wish to pass on your love of the discipline to the pupils, don't you?"

Constance seemed to consider this. Miss Drill thought that the end of their conversation was approaching. However, it was now her turn to be surprised as Constance responded.

"Yes. That's one reason why I teach..."

"It's obvious." Imogen remarked.

Constance made a small noise of disbelief.

"The girls don't recognise it. They think I teach in order to make their lives a misery."

Her companion wasn't instantly sure of what to say to that.

Constance was unsure of what to do with the silence she was met with, so she continued.

" I don't hate them, you know."

"Of course not." Imogen agreed, although there had been occasions when she had wondered if the opposite were true.

"It's just... I want..."

"The best for them?" Miss Drill continued.

Constance gave a discreet smile.

"Something of that sort Miss... Imogen."

The silence crept over them once more.

Imogen decided to break it.

"I understand completely. I do my best to motivate them, but I admit it's not always easy."

Each woman took a moment to recognise that perhaps their ideologies did not contradict each other completely.

Constance cleared her throat.  
"What about you? Why teach in Cackle's Academy as opposed to a regular comprehensive school?"

Imogen wasn't herself sure of the answer.  
"Well... I believe they're less in need of my assistance. Plenty are qualified to teach P.E, few are prepared to venture into the more... select schools. Also, our pupils have no set curriculum as such. I think my classes provide skills that would otherwise be ignored in favour of broomstick flying and ancient magical history..." she broke off mid-sentence, aware that Constance would probably disapprove of what she was now saying.

She was slightly taken aback to see that Miss Hardbroom just looked interested in what she was saying, and mildly thoughtful.

"It's true that physical education is unlike the subtle magical arts." Constance stated.

Miss Drill misinterpreted this acknowledgment as one of the cutting remarks she had come to expect.

" I know you disapprove." She said flatly.

"Disapprove?" Constance questioned. "Of P.E?"

"Of the subject, of my methods, of my - "

Imogen did not know if she wanted to continue, but Constance met her with a stare that forced her to elaborate.

"of my non-magical background." She concluded.

Constance raised an eyebrow, but did not immediately protest.

Miss Drill sighed and stood to go to her sleeping bag which was stationed at the other side of the room.

Before she was out of ear-shot Constance softly called -

"That's not exactly the case."

"Not exactly?" Imogen repeated, not angrily but sadly, with some attempt at understanding. The woman was a traditionalist after all. She turned towards the bathroom, and closed the door, leaving Constance alone once more.

The witch tried to return to the pages, but her mind was not translating the information properly.

Yet again, someone had tried to engage her in a meaningful conversation. Someone was actually succeeding where others had failed. Then, yet again, she herself had succeeded in pushing that someone away.

She groaned softly. She could not comprehend why she didn't just contradict Imogen, let her know that she wasn't against her background. She was very much aware of it, and in some minor ways was prejudiced. But it certainly was not to any great extent.

That was the truth. Nevertheless, she felt awkward expressing it.

A cat padded slowly across to her. She vaguely remembered Miss Cackle mentioning the animal, that groups hiring the cabin were expected to feed. It seemed to sense her loneliness, a feeling that Constance herself did not recognise, and gently leapt onto her lap. Absently, she began stroking it as she blocked out her thoughts and directed her eyes to chapter sixty-three.

As Imogen left the bathroom, ready to sleep, she hesitated a little by the doorway. She watched Tiger, the black sleek feline, who was enjoying the attention she was receiving. Imogen had noticed before that cats were drawn to Miss Hardbroom. Fellow mysterious creatures, she supposed. She also knew that her own cat had died recently, and wondered if Constance was capable of loving anything or anyone as much as she had that animal.

Constance waited until Imogen was in the sleeping bag, still, and most likely asleep. Although it was not really necessary for her to rise in order to switch off the lights, she did, pausing by the bundle on the floor that was Miss Drill.

Knowing that she would probably not be heard, she muttered a few sentences.

"I.." she hesitated. "I admire you. Your ability and your determination to excel, even in circumstances which are strange to you. I admire how you stand by your convictions and also the fact that... that you're not frightened of me."

If any creature other than the cat had been around, they would have seen Miss Hardbroom blush slightly as she flicked a switch and covered the room in darkness.

Miss Drill sat up.

"Constance."

There was no response.

"Perhaps we should take the girls out before midday tomorrow. I think I saw _miltionous _leaves by the pond.

Constance had confirmation that she had been heard and hesitated before replying.  
"Yes. Perhaps we should." She agreed, before settling on the couch.


	8. Chapter 8

_Agrimony. Blessed Thistle. Senna Leaves_.

Miss Drill made a mental note of each different plant species Constance pointed out to the young witches as they walked through the moist, early morning air.

She always made an effort to understand just the basics of their world. While she may have preferred a game of basketball to conjuring, the end results of spell-work never ceased to astound her. Thankfully she had, over the years, learnt to conceal her amazed expression. That day, for the first time in her terms at Cackle's Academy, due to Constance's words the night before, Imogen felt almost accepted.

She watched the girls, still half-asleep and therefore barely protesting, collecting various roots and leaves for their concoctions. The sounds of the great outdoors were all around her, and she took a moment to appreciate it.

She was, of course, interrupted.

"Ruby Cherrytree!" barked Miss Hardbroom. "What on earth are you wearing on your feet, girl?"

Ruby shifted guiltily and Imogen glanced down at the girl's boots, black canvas with purple and red stars.

"They're called Cons, Miss."

"While I do agree that the colours are so horrific that the designer should be convicted and incarcerated immediately, you have offered me no explanation as to why- "

Imogen cut in, wondering if she could restore the peace.

"Converse, Miss Hardbroom. They're the brand of shoe she is wearing. Very sensible boots for walking actually."

Every girl looked at Miss Hardbroom in earnest, hoping to aid Ruby's defence. Constance merely rolled her eyes.

"Oh, very well. But if I see any sign of such... vibrant apparel anywhere near a Cackle's girl when we return to the academy, there will be no such leniency."

"Yes, Miss Hardbroom!" the girls chorused in unison.

They continued, peacefully enough. Suddenly they were all aware of a song, in the distance at first, but gradually growing stronger.

"We're the Rocky Mountain Rangers, we can face all kinds of dangers!"

Imogen felt panic creep over her as the young men approached.

Serge.

This was followed by visible relief.

Not Serge.

However the leader of the troop did look familiar.

"Imogen!" called a boy with red curly hair.

As the two groups met, the ranger leader smiled in greeting.

"Imogen Drill!"

Miss Drill smiled in an attempt to hide her discomfort. As the girls greeted their old friends, Constance did not even chide their high spirits. She merely observed the exchange.

"Peter. It's been a long time." Imogen offered in greeting.

"Too long!" her acquaintance agreed. It was his turn to display some discomfort. "I was sorry to hear about...you and Serge...unexpected, you know?"

Imogen nodded, letting him know she did not find his words intrusive.

Their slightly awkard pause was saved by an outburst from Mildred Hubble.

"Miss! Miss!" she cried excitedly.

"What is it, girl?" Miss Hardbroom asked, her low tolerance for the excitable Mildred clearly evident.

"Miss, can we stay with the boys today? We could join their activities, just like before!"

For once, Constance did not immediately deliver a refusal. Instead she deferred to Miss Drill's judgement.

Imogen considered for a brief moment, then looked to see Peter's reaction. He seemed almost as excited as Mildred.

"Of course, what a great idea! You two ladies can have the day off."

As Constance was about to protest over giving the girls what basically amounted to free reign, Imogen spoke.

"Yes. That sounds wonderful."

* * *

Back at their lodgings, Imogen rather nervously poured two glasses of white wine.

Constance , also uncharacteristically nervous, reached for one, thanking her companion.

They sat in silence for a few long moments.

"Imogen?"

They held each other's gaze for a further few long moments.

"You were together. With...Serge?" her tone was almost, but not quite, regularly conversational.

"Yes." Imogen admitted quietly. "But not anymore." She hastily added.

"You ended it?"

"Yes."

A few moments more passed.

"You ended it...because of me?"

Imogen wondered if she was supposed to deny it. But her hesitation was confirmation enough.

The other woman's face instantly softened, as though her other harsh persona never existed.

She took a deep breath and reached for Imogen's hand, leading her inside.

Their lips met. Their hands explored. Their hearts beat simultaneously and their drinks were forgotten.


	9. Chapter 9

Imogen had been almost certain that her companion would immediately detach herself from their close position. Her colleague. Her companion. Her lover... lover. If someone in the very recent past had suggested that was what they would become, she would have laughed in their face.

Now it seemed that their... course of action... had been unavoidable. In fact, the lover in question was at that moment wondering why she had ever wanted to avoid their union.

The mere touch of her Imogen's hand intoxicated Constance, and although now completely satisfied, she was in no hurry to break contact. Surprising even herself, she allowed Imogen to bury herself in her luscious dark hair, so close that she could feel her warm breath on the back of her neck.

Gradually that breathing became steadier as Imogen's complete contentment drifted into sleep. However, Constance did not rest easily, particularly not during daylight hours, which despite the peace for miles around were still in place.

Unconsciously Imogen moved and turned away. Immediately Constance felt a jerking sense of loss that overtook her completely. Perhaps it was Imogen who did not desire the company. She herself turned so that their previous poses were reversed, and she cautiously placed an arm around the other woman. She was a person in constant fear of rejection, even from a sleeping Imogen.

An unfounded fear, as the blonde instinctively moved back to be held, and both women sighed softly in unison.

* * *

Hours later, the peace was shattered as Constance abruptly sat up, aware that darkness had fallen and she could hear excited chatter, gradually coming closer.

Awaking Imogen and simultaneously casting a spell to remove the evidence of their passion, Constance clearly displayed her power to such an extent that Imogen was yet again shocked by it. This time Miss Hardbroom noticed.

"You will understand me, Imogen. Everything."

As Constance softly spoke these words, she stood to address the girls, who had just started filing through the door.

Their pupils were all instantly disconcerted by her relaxed demeanour, as she told them they could spend the evening any way they chose, within reason. She had not completely lost her mind.

She didn't even protest when the racket of some modern music crept under the door of their room. She only raised an eyebrow when the screams became loud enough to cause concern.

Looking at Imogen almost tenderly, she asked "Would you like to check on them?"

In disbelief, she made for the door, when Constance spoke again, causing her to pause.

"Miss Drill... I think you might be good for me."

Imogen's face lit up, unseen by Constance. She privately wondered how their... relationship would transfer to the castle that was Cackle's Academy. Yet amidst her feelings of love she felt nothing else but hope.


	10. Chapter 10

A/N - for any readers still out there - thank you for your gracious comments and for coming back for more! I have a lot of ideas for our girls and hope to start updating regularly again.

Imogen Drill was a believer in miracles. Of course by definition, miracles are extremely rare things. She was therefore unsurprised to see that Constance had not suddenly developed a sunny dispostition.

"_Mildred Hubble!_" came the shriek from the next room.

Imogen visibly winced in sympathy for the young girl, yet again on the receiving end of her irritable lover's wrath.

The shouting continued. She idly wondered if Mildred deserved it. Probably, she concluded. Although she preferred a less... agressive form of discipline. She then smirked slightly as her mind conjured scenarios where Constance's natural agression was put to _very _good use.

The door slammed after Constance stormed through it - her mood once again matching her dark dress.

"Chaos! Utter Chaos!" she exclaimed, more to the air in general than to Imogen.

She responded anyway - in a tone usually reserved for particularly unruly ten year olds.

"Would it be a good idea for me to take over the supervision?"

"What?" asked Constance, in a distracted manner. She stopped and looked over at Miss Drill, as if registering her presence for the first time. "Oh. Very well." she answered, as though she was doing Imogen the favour.

Imogen risked a small smile. "Sometimes I think it would be easier for the girls to pack manually."

Constance stared at her as though she had just declared her undying love for Davina Bat.

"I mean, to stop the spells going awry." she clarified.

Constance Hardbroom, magical to the core, gave a non-committal noise in response.

This was an improvement to the all-out war that would have been declared only a few short weeks ago in response to such a comment, but Imogen was not satisfied by it.

She may not have been an all-powerful witch, but neither was she a weak-willed woman.

She stood and approached the other woman, who was currently folding clothing into neat piles, using magic, naturally.

A lesser woman would probably have the left the sorceress to it, intimidated by both her attitude and the energies she could control.

Of course, Imogen was not that woman. She took hold of one of Constance's pale wrists, and rested her other hand on her sholder. Constance immediately stiffened, then gradually relaxed into the touch. It became almost an embrace.

Imogen let her hand moved over the other woman in reassuring circular motions.

Constance wondered how so much could be conveyed by this contact, that a 'War and Peace' length novel could never have imparted.

The message was _Calm Down._

"Alright." Constance muttered, in answer to the unspoken request. "Alright."

A sudden noise from the girl's room, and they sprung apart.

Imogen studied the face of her femina intently, but it was again concealed by a mask of perfect indifference. Imogen maintain eye contact for several long seconds before the expression meeting her own relented. Determination was essential to a sports person, after all, and Constance played a very challenging game.

"You're uncomfortable." Imogen stated simply.

A pause.

"It's not you." Constance replied after some thought. _'I feel more comfortable with you than I do in my own company.' _she admitted silently. Miss Drill believed her first statement without question. Miss Hardbroom never took time to think, only to speak lightly.

Laughter belonging to a group of excited third-years shattered the peace that they both inevitably found in each other's presence.

"Let me." Imogen offered in a forced casual tone, but Constance stopped her after just a few steps towards the source of the commotion.  
"No." she spoke softly, and Imogen understood.

The girls were then reprimanded by their Potions mistress, her voice raised but obviously completely in control.

'_If not a miracle, then at least an improvement.'_ Imogen conceded as she sat down once more.

She closed her eyes, meaning to rest - just for a minute. Which gradually became many minutes. When 'HB' had thoroughly terrified her pupils - thereby ensuring they would be quiet for the remainder of their last night in the cabin - she rejoined Imogen.

Finding her asleep, she took the opportunity to look, _really_ look at the care-free face of the young woman. It wasn't that Constance didn't believe in soulmates. It was just that she had never, even for one moment, that their might be someone out their for her.

_'Not even _'Out There._' ' _Constance reflected. _'Right here.'_

Carefully, Constance lowered herself to sit down also, while still maintaining the distance she felt she needed. The small movement caused Imogen to stir slightly.

"Mmm...Constance..." she muttered sleepily.

"Imogen?" she replied, but received no response. Asleep. Imogen was dreaming about her.

Constance was unsure if this pleased her, but knew for certain that it scared her.

Yet she sat, as the hours passed, as Miss Drill slept and she could not remember ever feeling as relaxed.

When Imogen awoke, Constance had picked up her potions text. After what was, for her, a record period of time spent awake and not working.

Imogen could not stop the smile that lit up her features when she saw that her lover was not far away. As she shifted closer and as Constance turned to face her, as hesistant as though it was their first kiss, she pressed her lips against those of the other woman. They parted slightly, and Imogen let her tongue _just_ tease her patner's lower lip. The bittersweet taste that was so addictive, so _Constance_ made her desperate for more. As their kiss deepened and Imogen failed to suppress a moan, she hoped that every kiss would be like their first few - still passionate even as they grew more familiar.

When they parted, Imogen rested her head again Constance's shoulder. She was surprised, but said nothing and did not attempt to move away.

"Constance?"

"Hmm?"

"Is it easy for you to retrieve the girls brooms?"

The broomsticks, which had been shrunk and brought with them in case of emergency were actually in Constance's handbag.

"Well, yes." Constance replied, "A quick spell when we return will revert them."

"Right." Imogen looked uncertain, but she nevertheless continued. "Well you could always - we could always fly back."

Constance turned to look at her sharply and caught the hope in her eyes.

Suddenly, cold-hearted Miss Hardbroom was overwhelmed by the gesture. Imogen was not only trying to please her, but was also putting a great deal of trust in her.

She had to be sure.

"You'll fly with me?" she asked quietly.

Imogen nodded her confirmation.

Slowly, Constance lifted her arm and put it around the other woman. She could only hope this would indicate the depth of her emotions at that precise moment. Judging by the contented sigh she heard, it did.

The next day dawned, bright with very little in the way of a breeze. Even Mildred Hubble would have very little trouble flying in such conditions. Tired teenagers mounted their broomsticks.

Miss Hardbroom did the same, and she motioned to Imogen to join her. As Imogen perched behind her lover, she was apprehensive about being in such close contact in front of their pupils. But when Constance took off, up into the air, she forgot to worry. She just let her arms encircle her femina's waist and enjoyed the ride. She secretly thought of it as the first stage of their own, metaphorical journey.


	11. Chapter 11

In the days following their return, Imogen and Constance had little reason to stay apart. Yet they did.

They had agreed to meet and go for a walk together on the next Sunday morning, early so they would not be missed by pupils and Staff.

Friday morning came. A few hours later classes ended and Friday evening arrived. The next day dawned, quite predictably, a Saturday.

Time for the weekly staff meeting. Amelia Cackle beamed at each member of her staff team in turn, all the while holding a plate of cream cakes and offering them around the table.

Miss Bat took one without hesitation, chattering away about how, every so often, the cream would sing to her.

Imogen shook her head and politely declined- as a sportswoman she tried to limit the number of treats she had in a day. As mentioned earlier, this was a Saturday, and therefore 'pizza day'.

Constance merely fixed the headmistress with a glare that most deputes would not dare to bestow upon their superior.

Miss Cackle just chuckled and put the remaining three on her own plate.

Of course, Constance did want one of the cakes. Imogen was fairly certain of this. They just spoiled her 'stern mistress' image. She made a mental note to find something so delectable that her lover would not be able to turn it down. Nothing overly romantic. She imagined that if she so much thought of buying Constance a box of chocolates she would be hexed into next week. A bunch of flowers and she'd be lucky to escape with her life. Unless, of course, they could be used as a potions ingredient...

The wandering of Imogen's mind was interrupted by Constance clearing her throat loudly and looking pointedly at her.

_Ah, yes. The week's P.E report._

She began to talk about the pupils' progress in running, basketball and gymnastics, and watched Constance metaphorically 'switch off' in exactly the same manner she had. So she naturally felt the need to conclude with a direct question to the woman – old habits die hard.

'...if you're amendable to that, Miss Hardbroom?'

The witch blinked, and looked momentarily blank and unsure of how to respond.

'Naturally, I will need to give it further consideration.' She eventually said.

This surprised Miss Cackle and Miss Bat, as Imogen had only suggested adjourning the meeting early and joining the girls in the fresh air.

'Well, do you have anything else to add, Constance?' Miss Cackle asked, a slightly suspicious note present in her voice.

Another slight pause.

'No, headmistress.' Was the answer she received.

'Very well, then.' Miss Cackle rose. 'Davina, could I trouble you to come to my office and sign the forms I mentioned to you earlier?'

Miss Bat swept to her cupboard, retrieved a large quill that played music as you wrote, and swept out of the staffroom door, following Amelia.

The two younger and less eccentric women were left alone.

'_Most_ amusing.' Constance sarcastically remarked, in a manner that suggested she most certainly was not amused.

Imogen smirked, just a little.

'Well, you clearly weren't listening to a word I was saying.' Imogen said through soft laughter.

Her bright eyes did not brighten Constance's mood in the slightest.

'Miss Drill, you chose to daydream all through the topic of our upcoming magical inspection and yet you also chose to embarrass me in front of our colleagues-'

Imogen's smile disappeared. She tried to interject.

'Constance, I didn't mean - '

However the sorceress was building up towards a full tirade.

'You may not have meant anything Miss Drill, after all in your opinion Cackle's Academy should be more concerned with teaching _swimming_ than teaching spells, as though you are in any way fit to lead our school _of __magic _through this inspection!'

Imogen flinched as though she had been slapped.

A full five seconds of silence followed the outburst.

Constance saw red for the first three of them, then she thought she might have glimpsed tears in Imogen's eyes. One blink, and they were gone.

Miss Hardbroom took a step forward.

'Imogen.. . I...' she took a deep breath, in an effort to calm herself further. Her hand reached out to touch the other woman's cheek.

'I really - '

Miss Drill immediately jerked away from the touch.

'Don't. Just _don't_.' She snapped.

Constance opened her mouth to try again, but Imogen stormed out the room, using all her strength to slam the door behind her.

Normally it was Miss Hardbroom who had the obvious flare for the theatrical. She vaguely thought about following.

However, this time she could only stare at the closed door.

Another barrier.


	12. Chapter 12

A/N - Things heat up in this chapter, and are a little more graphic. Enjoy!

If anyone's interested in joining a Worst Witch fan resource community on LiveJournal, as a member or moderator then please get in touch!

Chapter 12.

Constance's dreams that night were troubled. She tossed and she turned until she finally gave up on the idea of a peaceful sleep. Irritably waving a hand towards her nightstand, she magically lit the candle.

She was exasperated mainly at herself, and the lack of foresight she had demonstrated in not having brewed enough dreamless potion to keep her in stock throughout the month. She had not been troubled by her insomnia for days.

Until the earlier conflict with Imogen, which she was stubbornly refusing to think about consciously. Yet now, when she closed her eyes, the image of Miss Drill hurt yet again by her words was inescapable.

A bitter sigh escaped as she rolled over and stepped out of bed, shivering slightly as her bare feet touched the room's cold floor. She caught sight of herself in the full-length mirror on the wall. She had never been one for vanity, but on this night her reflection caught her eye.

_Too pale._ she noted immediately, her snow-white complexion an obvious contrast next to the deep purple satin of her nightdress. She had bought the garment bearing in mind that someone else might see it. _Too revealing for someone of my age. _she thought darkly, conjuring a black cloth dressing gown and slipping into it, tying it around her waist. Her dark hair was not pulled back in its usual severe style, instead it hung past her shoulders in soft, elegant waves. She half-heartedly considered tying it back in an effort to look less casual before yet again patrolling the corridors, but logic told her that this was unnecessary at such an hour. She picked up her lantern and stepped into the castle hallway, deciding to check on the third-year wing first.

Half an hour later, it was not yet sunrise and Constance had already made her way to the potions laboratory. She loathed to think of herself as dependent on a substance, whether it was magical or not. However, she could not at that moment contemplate an apology – her fear of it being rejected was too great. She began to synthesise her own undisturbed rest in a cauldron.

* * *

For once, a late night walk had not cleared Imogen's mind or improved her mood. Heading back into the castle, she was alerted by a noise. Someone was in the potions classroom. Assuming it was Ethel Hallow up to her old tricks, and secretly hoping it had nothing to do with Agatha Cackle or any similar wicked witches, she approached the arch windows that looked into the lab.

Mixed emotions passed through her when she saw it was Miss Hardbroom. Hurt. Anger. Unwanted lust, when her eyes trailed down to where her dressing gown had fallen open, revealing impeccable white cleavage encased in purple satin. Imogen lingered a moment longer, watching her lover (_ex lover?_) dice roots of some magical herb she did not know the name of. Then Constance froze.

Imogen was about to turn to go, believing that Constance had sensed her presence. Then she saw that the witch was trembling. Looking closer still, she saw a few tears fall from her brown eyes. The potions mistress sat down abruptly at her desk, burying her head in her arms, before convulsing in silent sobs.

Miss Drill considered just walking away. Yet something stopped her. _You knew not to expect miracles._ she reminded herself. Yes, Constance had hurt her. But it was obvious that she was now hurting herself. That meant something.

Her mind made up, she went to the door, which announced her arrival with a creak as she opened it.

She saw Miss Hardbroom tense, but she did not immediately lift her head.

'It's me.' Imogen spoke softly.

Constance slowly lifted her gaze to meet Imogen's. She was one of the few people who became more beautiful when they cried. Not that it occurred very often.

Imogen could see the pain, guilt and self-loathing in the witch's eyes.

Instinct eradicated her own fury, as she tentatively placed a hand on the seated woman's shoulder. She felt the trembling, still ongoing. No apology was uttered aloud, but she could somehow _feel _it – perhaps as a result of Constance's unbelievable power when under stress.

'Look at me.' Imogen gently commanded. Constance immediately obeyed, and looked as though she was about to speak. Imogen spoke first.

'I think I can forgive you.' She stated simply.

Constance made a small choked noise and stood. Suddenly her arms were around Imogen, hugging her tightly, clawing almost frantically as she whispered 'Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.' between sobs, her face buried in Imogen's shoulder.

Imogen stroked her hair, and gradually Constance calmed down.

'We can do this.' She whispered, not letting go of Imogen.

The younger woman wanted to agree. Instead she merely said  
'You really have to try.'

Constance nodded. She had never failed at anything before and didn't intend to start with something so important.

Uncertainly, she leaned in to kiss Imogen, who allowed it. Encouraged by the younger woman's lack of resistance, she gently allowed her tongue to _just_ trace Imogen's lips. This was also allowed.

Constance paused, their foreheads still touching. A sharp intake of breath.

Then Imogen was kissing _her_, gently at first, then after a few seconds the pressure increased. As the kiss deepened, Constance grabbed Imogen by the waist, first to steady herself. Then she began re-exploring the territory she had come so close to losing – touching Imogen in every place she could reach. Running her hands down the toned thighs, a rush of desire overtook the potions mistress.

Without breaking the kiss, she magically swept every item off the desk. Papers scattered, the cauldron smashed and the long-forgotten potion hissed on the floor. Neither woman cared. Stopping for just enough time to take a breath and jump to sit on the desktop, Constance opened her legs slightly, pulling the still-standing Imogen between them. Even in the submissive position she was dominant.

Their lips met yet again, as Imogen pulled the dressing gown from Constance, discarding it thoughtlessly. She ran her hands over the smooth satin and Constance trembled yet again – this time due to want.

She reached out to unbutton the black jeans the P.E teacher was wearing – _ridiculous invention _some part of her brain that was still functioning interjected- and Imogen hastily stepped out of them.

Imogen's vaguely remembered that she had put on reasonably sexy underwear that morning, but when Constance stroked her through the black lace she couldn't care less what she was wearing. She just wanted them off.

She moaned softly in an effort to make her wishes known, and Miss Hardbroom was happy to oblige with a spell that removed them, simultaneously undoing the buttons of her blouse with one hand. Imogen was so wet already. When her lover's hand teased her, brushing against her clitoris before entering her – first one long finger and then another – she gasped in an almost surprised manner, unique to that first rush of pleasure.

Making small noises of satisfaction, she lay down on top of Constance, pushing her down. Trailing her hand up the nightdress, she was happy to find that Constance was as ready as she was.

They found a rhythm as naturally as they had the first few times they were together. Their heart rates increased, and their breathing grew constantly louder until it was cries of pleasure. That small part of Constance's mind that had access to any logic forced her to remove her other hand from Imogen's shoulder and cast a silencing spell.  
The rush of power at this moment coincided with Imogen's orgasm, intensifying it. She cried out as she came, and this brought Constance over the edge too.

A long groan and she saw stars.

Still breathing heavily minutes later, Constance allowed herself a small smirk at the situation. They were not even fully undressed.

Imogen clung to her lover, seemingly unable to move, so she pulled her closer and closed her eyes with intent. The next instant they were both in Constance's bed, to enjoy a more comfortable afterglow.


End file.
